Pretty Lies

If we could break
this sullen silence,
what would we say?

Our secrets lie
behind closed doors,
waiting for the light
to shine through.

I hold my tongue
as you twist your words
around your fingers,
honeyed promises
falling from your lips.

I taste that sweetness
on your tongue,
and my heart aches for more,
reaches out for more,
to cleanse my soul
with your flame.

Please tell me
those pretty lies.
Tear open
my fragile heart.
Give me the words
I want to hear.
Take my innocence
and set it on fire.


Morning Light

As soft as the morning light
that slowly spreads in bright colors,
casting silhouettes along the pavement,
my steps are gentle, a lover’s touch,
easing away the pain the night has brought.

The smell of coffee hangs in the air,
a magnetic scent, all-too-familiar,
jolting me, a welcome sensation,
coursing down my throat
and into my veins.

Another cycle begins,
of waking, and dreaming, and falling asleep,
until the evening comes
to cast a different set of shadows
to be extinguished once again
in the morning light.


Photo from Pexels

Maybe (2020 Version)

Maybe some stars shined too bright
that we were blinded by their glare.
Maybe some mountains were too high to climb
that we could only stand and stare.
Maybe the way home was too far away
that we had decided to stay.
Maybe the words would hurt too much
that we had kept them all at bay.

But maybe we weren’t meant to shine
as bright as the stars that burn,
and maybe the road was too dark to walk
that we only stood to yearn.
Maybe I was too young to understand
all of life’s cruel intentions.
Maybe I was meant to take a step
towards another direction.

Maybe some things were never built to last,
and others were meant to stay in the past.
Maybe, in the end,
life only moves so fast
that we must learn to live without the shadows we cast.


Note: This is based on a poem that I’ve written in 2016, which I also posted last June (click here to view the original poem).

My Faithful Friend (Collaboration with Sidharth)

Counting down the days gone by,
Ticking off dates on a calendar page.
I lay back and breathe a sigh,
Wondering when I will leave this cage.

Amidst this madness, as my every innocent dream dies,
My faith walks on broken glass… For a thousand miles.
I contain countless burning tears in my eyes
As I hide my pain behind my fake smiles.

That’s when your calming presence I begin to see,
As you rise to be my beacon of hope amidst the dark.
You raise me up to more than I can be,
As gently you heal my bleeding heart.

As my demons evolve in dreadful metamorphic forms,
You hold my hand and become my guiding force.
Together we confront all the dark unforgiving storms,
While standing side by side, a light within me you enforce.

We stand in stark contrast,
Like a rainbow in a ghastly gray sky.
Though the distance between us is vast,
I know you’ll wipe my tears if ever I cry.

Things may fall apart from pole to pole,
But I hope our bond will never end.
Your benevolent fragrance, I carry in my soul,
For you complete me… my faithful friend.

Note: This is the first collaboration I’ve ever made since I became a blogger, and what makes it even more special is that I was able to do this with my friend/mentor Sidharth (do check out his blog Writing Rhymes). No matter how different two people can be, if they truly care about each other then they could overcome those differences. True friendship knows no such boundaries.

Rain and Perfect Storms

The rain,
the gentle patter,
the torrential disaster:
my favorite sound.

Thunder clapping,
lightning flashing,
sound and light clashing:
the perfect storm.

The quiet after,
then sounds of laughter,
coming out from shelter.
The clouds roll away
and make their escape;
the beginning of another chapter.


Photo from Google Images


Fold me,
mold me
into anything you see.
Make me,
decorate me
as pretty as you please.
Tear me
let me flutter in the breeze.
Love me,
touch me,
measure my every piece.

I am
everything you need.
I will be
you want me to be.


Photo from Pexels


Change my nature
to cure the illness
plaguing me.

But I feel no change
come about
at your touch.

Only noise
and false promises
from false gods.

Synthetic devotion:
a loving display
of affectations
to appease the wolves
at your door.


Note: I’ve just written this a few minutes ago, so there might be a chance I will be making a few changes later on. Good night ^.^

**Update** Changed the “,” after the word “devotion” to “:”

Falling (Into Your Arms)

In every day I break your heart,
you calm me; my storm ceases to reign,
coming back to the start,
before the sun shined after the rain.

You whisper softly,
your voice a gentle purr.
You slowly disarm me,
the walls of my anger beginning to blur.

I fall to your arms, your sweet caress,
my resolve slowly starting to crumble.
Upon your lips do I attest,
my heart gently taking a tumble.

Every push and pull and twist and turn
is a slow fall into your embrace.
To you is where I’ll always return;
to you, my saving grace.


Photo from Pexels

At Sunset

You saw me,
your eyes full of compassion;
you drew me close,
never letting go.

Watching the sun dip into the sea,
our fingers intertwined,
I felt the soft brush of tranquility
creep into my chest,
filling the empty spaces
with light
and color
and the gentle calm
that only comes with contentment.

I was at peace.


Piano Keys

I remember the piano room
at age thirteen,
my solitary refuge
from the noises of my high school,
my fingers on ivory keys,
following the notes
to a song I barely knew.

I drift back to a chapel room
at age six,
hiding from my mother
to play on the old piano
about a duck and her young
swimming in a lake,
before my teacher came
to take me from my song.

I wake up to today,
at age twenty-two,
where I traded the piano
for a pen,
and the musical notes
for the words they bring to life,
far from the dreams I had in my childhood,
and I’ve never been happier.


Note: When I was a kid, I wanted to play the piano. There was just something about that mesmerized me. Somehow, I was able to convince my mom to let me take lessons with one of the music teachers at my old school. When I was thirteen, my teacher told me that I had the potential to be a good pianist someday, but unfortunately I had to quit because my mom needed to redirect the money for my lessons to pay my for my older brother’s therapy. I wouldn’t consider it a total loss though. When I got into writing, I got the same satisfaction that I felt when I was playing the piano. I guess I was meant to do something else with my life after all.

Photo from Pexels